The Carrow Haunt by Darcy Coates

Author:Darcy Coates [Coates, Darcy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Owl Books
Published: 2018-03-26T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

The Smoking Room

Remy tried her hardest not to look at the basement’s door as she passed it, but the discreet wooden shape was impossible to ignore. She went to the nearest bathroom, turned on the tap, and dunked her face under the icy water.

She’d started to feel more human by the time she came up. Her skin was sallow and blotchy, she noticed in the cracked mirror, and she tried to brighten it with a smile. The result was a grimace.

Marjorie’s right… in a way. Crying won’t bring Piers back. The best I can do is hold things together until the storm clears.

Thunder rumbled outside. Remy shuddered, knowing the storm was nowhere near done, and dried her face on the hem of her shirt before leaving the bathroom.

She found Marjorie, Mark, and April in the smoking room. It was a small, dim area with too much furniture and not enough ventilation. Even though no one had smoked in it in decades, the musty, sour smell remained. Close to a dozen paintings of landscapes and people cluttered the walls. Its fireplace hadn’t been lit, which made it feel cold and unwelcoming.

Marjorie had cleared a space around one of the circular tables and was covering it with a tablecloth. Remy helped light a candle while Marjorie placed her pen and the herb sprigs on the table.

“What’re the plants for?” April asked from where she’d perched in an armchair.

“Herbs, dear. They attract the spirits. A candle for those who are trapped in the dark, fragrant food for those who are hungry.” Marjorie turned off the lights, set the pen upright, then beckoned them close.

They pulled up their seats and held hands. Remy closed her eyes and felt Marjorie’s papery, aged skin in her left hand and Mark’s warm fingers in her right. She took a deep breath and tried to ground herself.

“My name is Marjorie,” the medium began. “I would be glad to speak to any spirits who are present and willing to communicate.”

The smoking room had no windows, but Remy could still hear the storm outside. She tried to block out the environmental noise and focus on what was happening in their circle.

Marjorie’s eyebrows pulled together, and she spoke again, maintaining the same steady tone. “I wish to communicate with any who are present. If you can hear me, please tip my pen over.”

All eyes turned to the little implement standing on its end. Remy held her breath, ready for it to fall. It stayed still.

Marjorie let the quiet stretch for several minutes then spoke again. “I feel your presence. I wish to communicate. If you are able to, please tip my pen over.”

The pen refused to move. Remy swallowed and adjusted her grip on her companions’ hands.

“It’s strange,” Marjorie whispered. “I can feel someone here. But they’re not replying. Usually, spirits are eager to communicate.”

“Maybe they’re too weak?” Remy asked.

As soon as the words left her mouth, the pen clattered to the table. A smile lit Marjorie’s face. “Ah, thank you.

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